Half Truths and Whole Lies
by bleedcolor
Summary: Harry and Snape are locked in a dungeon together, how do they pass the time? What do they talk about?


Title: Half-Truths and Whole Lies  
  
Author: Batling  
  
Pairing: Harry/Snape  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Harry and Snape are locked in a dungeon together, how do they pass the time? What do they talk about?  
  
One-shot!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or make any profit from writing HP fanfiction. MY plot, though. MINE.  
  
WARNING: THIS FIC WILL CONTAIN OR IMPLY SLASH, MALE/MALE RELATIONSHIPS, SPECIFIcALLY HARRY/SNAPE. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT, GO READ SOMETHING ELSE!  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Would you cease that nerve-wracking pacing?!"  
  
The sound of steps that had a few seconds before filled the room paused briefly then resumed.   
  
"Bugger off."  
  
Black eyes narrowed in the dank gloom of a chilled dungeon.  
  
"It would do you well to remember that I am still your professor and as such, still deserve respect."  
  
The pacing paused again.  
  
"Respect?! It's your fault we're even in this bloody mess to begin with and you want respect? Are you out of your friggin mind?! Just shut up and leave me the bloody hell alone, Snape. I don't want to remember that you still take up valuable air."  
  
"My fault? Might I remind you, Mr. Potter, that if you hadn't gone rushing off to play the hero yet again, we would not be in this situation right now. And it's Professor Snape to you."  
  
"Oh yeah? Well, Professor Snape," Harry spat the name out viciously, "If you hadn't bloody well followed and surprised me, I wouldn't have gotten caught and I wouldn't be here, even if you might. So, you really can't expect me to take the blame. Not for your being a greasy git, leastwise."  
  
Silence fell again, leaving both alone with their thoughts in the dark chill of the stone room. Nothing other than the occasional rustle of robes and a steady dripping of water from somewhere in the room broke the stillness.  
  
Harry sat by a wall and buried his head in his hands, replaying the moment of his capture over and over again. Ron's head being smashed off the pavement by a Death Eater as Harry and Snape were dragged away. Harry had kicked and screamed, trying desperately to get back to his best friend, not wanting to believe what the blood beginning to pool around Ron Weasley's head and the redhead's motionlessness signified.  
  
Ron was not dead, it wasn't possible. Harry took a deep shuddering breath of the foul air in the room and then let it out again in a rush. A rustle came from the corner Harry figured that Snape was lurking in.  
  
"You aren't crying, are you Potter? I can't abide crying people." The Potions Master's voice sounded nearly nervous although it held a hint of arrogance, as if he were trying to cover it up.  
  
Harry snorted.   
  
"No. And what does it matter to you, anyway? You can't abide me whether I'm crying or not. You can't abide me simply because I exist, not that I ever did anything to deserve that. 'Cept maybe being born, and that really wasn't my choice..." The sixth year Gryffindor trailed off with the vague realization that he was rambling.  
  
Harry leaned his head back to rest on the wall behind him, it was damp and covered with something that felt like moss or maybe mold. At least, that's what Harry hoped it was. Things could get particularly nastier than they already were if whatever was covering the walls wasn't either of those two things. And as nasty as things already were, he didn't really want to think about the situation worsening.  
  
Stuck, in a dungeon, at least forty Death Eaters and Voldemort keeping him there, with Snape. Nope. Not much room for unimprovement. Especially since both he and Snape were without their wands and basically at Voldemort's mercy.  
  
"We're going to die, aren't we?" The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. Great, now Snape was going to think that he was some kind of emotional coward who was afraid of dying. Not that being afraid of dying was too uncommon, Snape was just that much of a prick.  
  
The softly spoken words surprised Severus Snape in his corner and he was silent for a few seconds before slightly hysterical laughter flew from his lips.  
  
"What's so funny?" Indignance filled his student's voice. The boy was used to being laughed at, but he generally knew why and Snape's behavior at this moment in time was very worrying to him.  
  
When the Potions professor had calmed himself enough to speak reasonably sedately, his lips were still quirked up at the corners.   
  
"Not much, Potter, I just always figured you as an optimist, really. And I'm a bit hysterical at the moment as I am no such thing."   
  
Snape nearly bit his tongue upon hearing that last bit come out of him. Whatever posessed me to say that? I really must be hysterical and probably losing my mind, as well, he thought. He supressed a sigh, now leave it up to James' brat to say something snide about that little slip-up. Wonderful, the things his tongue got him into sometimes.  
  
"I'm a realist. Optimists are idiots."  
  
Well, well. Maybe there was a bit of Lily in this boy after all, a tiny bit containing some modicum of tact, anyway.   
  
"I agree. Perhaps...you aren't as ignorant as your Potions grades tend to lead one to believe."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow from his place against the wall. That was a backwards compliment if he'd ever heard one. Of course, that was also the nicest thing that he'd ever heard pass Snape's lips and be directed towards him at the same time. Well, they were going to die, Snape himself had practically confirmed it, so it probably seemed petty to keep this ignorant animosity between them.   
  
Then again, Harry didn't even know why the animosity was there to begin with, Snape had always hated him, and seemingly for no reason. Wondering why that was, Harry decided that there was no time, considering he was about to die a slow and painful death, like the present.  
  
"So. Why do you hate me so much? Certainly not because of my father, because I didn't deserve 6 years of torture just because he hung you upside down and everyone saw your underwear occasionally."  
  
Snape gritted his teeth at the remembrance that this brat had intruded on his personal memories, but pushed it away, there was the matter of the boy's question to attend to. Perhaps the truth would be best. That he'd had been in love with his childhood tormentor, and Harry's appearance at Hogwarts had reminded him that James had not chosen him, had not even looked at him with something other than contempt once. And then, that as the boy grew older, he'd grown to love Sirius as his surrogate father, someone that Severus had envied and hated for as long as he could remember.  
  
And that, as he grew older yet, he'd retained enough of his father's beauty to prove that he was indeed James' child, but Harry had shown a personality completely different from his father's. To say that he'd captured Snape as surely as his father had, so many years ago. Yes, so to tell the child that he was a sick pervert, or not? How about, not? Better to stick to half truths and whole lies. It was what he was good at, really. You couldn't have expected him to survive as a spy in the Dark Lord's legions as long as he had, without that skill, occulemency or no.  
  
"I have never hated you. You were cheeky as an eleven year old, as you were at twelve, at thirteen you were desperate to prove yourself unafraid of anything, and so took on dementors, at fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen enamored with heroics, idiotic, and nosy. I never hated you, I merely find you distasteful. Yes, you remind me of the past, and of things about myself that I would rather not recall, but I do not hate you for that or any other reason."  
  
A shuffling was heard from where Snape assumed Harry had been sitting and then the Boy-Who-Lived appeared in the gloom a few feet in front of him steadily making his way towards Severus, until the Gryffindor was standing next to him. He stood there a few moment's before sitting.  
  
"How do I remind you of yourself?"  
  
Snape frowned at the boy next to him, taking in the still slightly bleeding cut on his forehead, and the dirt smudged on his face, exhaust shining clearly in his emerald eyes.  
  
"In no way you need to worry about at the moment," he paused then added bluntly, "You need sleep."  
  
Harry blinked at his professor through bleary eyes, surprised by his last comment.  
  
"How'm I supposed to sleep in this dump. They didn't exactly supply it with pillows, you know. And wet stones aren't exactly theraputic for your back." He groused, again surveying their dank surroundings as best he could in the extremely dim light.  
  
"Use my shoulder."  
  
Harry's eyes snapped back towards Snape, wide and surprised.  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
Snape shrugged, not meeting the boy's eyes. "You might as well, it's not likely that we'll be going anywhere any time soon. One of us ought to get some sleep."  
  
Harry cautiously moved towards Snape, until they were only seperated by mere centimeters and cautiously laid his head on his Professor-Turned-Pillow's shoulder, as if Snape were going to bite him at any second. Snape merely wrapped an arm around his student's side however, and Harry slowly relaxed, breathing in some of the more common herbs that Snape worked with on his robes.  
  
Slowly, Severus felt Harry drift off into a deep sleep, and smiled softly, something no one would ever witness on his face. This felt nice, though it was odd --he'd never held anyone before. Not in comfort or otherwise, but somehow it was right: Harry fit perfectly. Maybe if they survived this, he would tell Harry the truth. It would be better to risk it than to know, right?   
  
Snape looked up as bright light suddenly filled the dungeon... 


End file.
